Actions Speak Louder
by Estriel
Summary: Ficlet. A look at the developing relationship between Russ and Holmes while a mystery unfolds. Lightweight, a little fluff later on. Any fans of 'A mystery of Homes'(yes, it is spelt right) should come on in!
1. Default Chapter

"My dear Russell, what you propose is not only positively reckless, it is also ill-considered and foolish. I will not hear another word."

My dear mentor, Sherlock Holmes, could not possibly have an idea of how wounding his words were to me. At seventeen, I had learnt by now that soft words rarely passed betwixt us, particularly when I suggested something of the sort I had just done, but all the same, his callous words hurt.

"My _dear_ Holmes," I mocked him in return, "it is not half as ill-considered as you seem to believe. Why should I not take the night watch for you? It would benefit us both, in that you would get a reasonable amount of sleep and be less acerbic, and I would have a chance to exercise my skills."

I stated my reply in such a way that the benefits were fairly obvious. What I failed to mention, was that I had noticed him becoming thinner again, and more melancholy while I was away (my aunt had found a new way to keep me to the house, which I was near to finding a way around, but had not as of yet, escaped for longer than an hour). I was seriously concerned for his health; winter was long and cold this year, and he seemed to miss London more than usual. I made a mental note to telephone Uncle John, and ask him to come down for a few days next week.

"Russell." His voice grated firmly. " Why should you miss valuable rest for the sake of my bees? It is highly unlikely that they will be disturbed again, and the dog is becoming better at his job. I only watch because…"

I interrupted him. "…because you suspect they will be back."

He raised an eyebrow.

"They?"

I nodded reluctantly.

"Yes, they. I looked at the flowerbed more closely this morning as I came in. There are the footprints of one man. By the hedge, however…"

His eyes were shining appreciatively.

"Excellent, Russ! I did wonder…"

Another test. I longed for the day he would trust me to act more on my own. He still treated me as the fifteen year old who had stumbled across him watching bees on the Downs. But all the same, I warmed inwardly with pleasure at his praise. Damn, damn, damn the man!

"Come, Holmes. More argument is ridiculous. If we have no further signs in three nights time, I will agree to re-negotiate."

Holmes looked mulish, and for a moment I thought his stubbornness was going to be the cause of one of our rare, protracted arguments that ended in shouting and, in my case, the occasional bout angry silence, which was possibly even worse than the shouting. In fact, I much preferred the shouting- we both knew where we were in a shouting match, and it often turned into a test of wits which shocked Mrs Hudson and Uncle John on the times we allowed ourselves to be overheard. I twisted a thin ring on my right hand absently while he thought, scowling, for a dangerous minute.

"Very well. But two nights, not three. Done?"

"Done." I agreed in relief, before he could change his mind. We shook on it, and then moved our attention to the delicious repast that had been prepared by Mrs Hudson for lunch. It was cooling fast; another reason to be glad of the early ending to the argument.

* * *

After lunch, it was time to return to the farm and my aunt. Her 'clever' plan (which was low even for her) to keep me in the house involved two things. My parents few remaining belongings and cleaning solutions. To sum up the idea, if the collection of things she set out when I left the house wasn't clean in an hour and a half's time, it would be thrown out. 

This plan was working so far, but I had already come up with three ways to deceive her before I had left the house today. Namely-

(a) Don't let her discover you are out- i.e. Leave at night.

(b) Simply remove the things she sets out as soon as they are put out, to Holmes' cottage (I had received permission before leaving today) and keep doing so until she runs out of them.

(c) Find all of my parents things and lock them in my room- permanently.

I had lulled her into a false sense of security, I could tell: she was smirking in a most unattractive manner as I returned, early, for I did not trust her to keep them a second over time. I walked past her, into the house, and began my onerous task. Plan a would be put into practice tonight. Plan c would be begun today, and Plan b was a safety net, in case Plans a and c failed. I worked carefully, thinking out every detail of the tasks I had set myself for the next few days, planning, planning.

Every item cleaned with the utmost care; photographs, ornaments, my father's favourite pen, my mothers jewellery, the old clock I could remember since...well, forever.

How could my aunts malicious nature have reached such depths as to suggest that these be taken for rubbish, pawned or sold? They were more valuable to me than all the money of my inheritance. I was instructed to take them away 'and do what you like with them, so long as they stay in the house'.

_What a woman_, I thought, as I lifted the box up the stairs and far along the corridor to my small room. _What a woman_. Soon they were safely locked away in my wardrobe, but I could not help but feel glad that I could begin taking them to Holmes tonight.

I began to pack one of my larger knapsacks, with a small torch (for reading), large torch ( for intruders), warm sweaters, socks, and all the minutiae that might be needed, as well as the most crucial of my treasure trove. I was concerned mostly about a ring of my mothers- her engagement ring. She had loved it most of all her jewellery, as it was made for her, to my fathers design, and showed in a very beautiful way, their strength of love for each other.

I knew, however, thatmy auntwas leaving it until the end, to be sure I was kept on my best behaviour. It was the type of thing I had come to expect from her.

Once ready, I locked everything away, and went downstairs to help with the chores. It was a small victory for my aunt, but as I could see, one that counted for much, and inside I had to supress a feeling of glee that once again, I had won. With a little help from my friends..


	2. Sweet silence

Everything was so quiet.

I loved night watch when it was like this. Except for the cold. The rain. The fact that I couldn't use my reading torch as it would be a dead give away on such a clear night, and the only spot suitable to watch the hives was far too open for a light. I huddled miserably in my fathers coat, glad I had at least dressed waterproof and warm.

Was this what I had risked loosing my family's possessions for? I remembered my brothers favourite book, which was carefully tucked in the room I used at Holmes' cottage. Then I thought of Holmes, alone out here. He needed some rest; he was far too lean for my taste, and apparently Mrs Hudson's too. Uncle John would throw a fit, I was sure.

I thought of the text I was reading at the moment. An edition recommended by Holmes, of Paradise Lost, by John Milton. I found it stimulating, if slightly facile compared to my usual reading. As I sat, alone in the dark, I remembered the description of the rebel angels, falling through chaos and night for nine days and nights. I too felt like this night would continue forever.

Deciding to occupy myself, I set about examining every part of the garden, committing shapes to memory, so that a new one would attract my attention. Cautiously, I listened to the sounds of night- soft rain, the dog in its kennel, snoring slightly, the soft calls of the night birds. I realised how alive the night was, how I had been accepted as a presence in the garden, and an unthreatening one, due to my stillness and calm. I saw a fox prowl past, take a look at the dog, and hurry away to look for easier prey. A barn owl coasted by on silent wings, swooped, a squeak, and flew just a silently away, a mouse clutched in its beak.

I must have sat like that for hours. It seemed a very short time before the garden began to still. It was about four in the morning, and still dark, when I noticed the unnatural silence. Slowly becoming more alert, I quietly readied the large torch and placed the pistol, safety catch on, in my pocket. Then, in the darkness, I saw two large figures enter the garden and crouch behind some bushes to have a look at the hives. Sensing no danger, they quietly rose and walked towards the hives.

It was, I admit, with adrenaline pumping, that I chose to confront them at that moment, rather than allow harm to come to Holmes' beloved bees. They could still be prosecuted for trespassing, and a case brought against them for damage the night before. They must be amateurs, I decided, and slowly stood, and moved closer. Focusing at their faces, I turned the powerful torch on.

"What are you doing?" I called calmly to them, recognising their faces from somewhere.

They froze as soon as the light hit them, and then, in a moment of unified thought, turned and ran. To my shock, a third figure rose by their exit. Had I miscalculated? I began to reassess the situation, worried the odds were heavily in their favour, before I recognised an acerbic voice, with a familiar biting tone, ring out across the cold air.

"Stop! We have you, gentlemen, best give up. Well?"

The two fugitives had halted abruptly, and Holmes (for of course, it was he) seized a shirtsleeve. I ran over, and grabbed the other, perhaps not as gently as my companion would have wished.

"The torch, if you please, Russell?"

I handed it to him, glad to be able to grasp my captive with both hands. My mind raced. Bloody Holmes! What was the man doing out here? He'll just have to wait for now- unity in front of enemies- but when I get him alone...He'll wish it was a silent argument!

"Well, I think it is extremely fortunate that neither of you are armed." Holmes had finished searching them, and was leading them towards the cellar.

"So if you don't mind, you can stay in here for tonight, and we'll escort you to the police in the morning."

For once, I sympathised with our bewildered and angry captives- that man is the most irritating man in the world.

* * *

Sorry its so short. More soon! R&R! 


End file.
